The Marriage (Darkest Lies Trilogy Book 3) Bethany-Kris (read this if txt) 📖

Chet interrupted smoothly, seemingly unbothered by Roman’s rant. “Dima wants what he wants. He has nothing to lose. You have everything, see. I hear your mother likes roses ...” Giddy laughter followed before the man said, “The choice is yours—but don’t take too long to think. I’ll call again with details.”

The call hung up as fast as it had come in, and just like when it did, Roman was left staring at the screen.

His messenger was gone.

The only thing he was left with was a choice.

*

Demyan poured vodka in two shot glasses and walked over to his son with both in his hands. “Do it on his terms, then. If he’s made a threat on your mother—”

“You can’t be serious,” Roman replied.

“It’s not exactly like he can kill you in broad daylight, either. And he is looking for exactly this reaction from you and the rest of our family,” Demyan added, shrugging as he fell into chair behind his desk. He’d come home from a lunch with Roman’s mother the second his son called about the message from Dima.

Down the hall, he could hear his mother talking to his grandmother—Viviana. Nobody liked being moved to safe places when bad stuff went down because of their association to the mob, but that was the life they had all chosen. Sometimes, the only thing they could do was bicker amongst themselves about it.

Roman tried to ignore his mother’s conversation to deal with the one at hand with his father.

Demyan hadn’t missed a beat. “He doesn’t like being ignored, and that’s what we’ve been doing so far. He feels like we aren’t treating him with the respect he deserves.”

“He deserves to die.”

“Does he?” Demyan passed his son a look. “You’ve only said some. I didn’t want to ask for more than you were willing to tell me about her ... and him.”

Roman swallowed hard, refusing to meet his father’s gaze and instead fixing his own on the window and the view outside. “He’s mad.”

“As in—”

“What does it matter?”

There were things Roman didn’t want to repeat. He knew Karine wished the same, but she’d never be released from her memories.

“Exactly the reason why we need to take his threats seriously. Before he does something that lands us all in jail for a spell. We don’t know where Karine is right now. We don’t know what Maxim is planning, either. The only thing we can do is give in to Dima’s demands. Or at least make him believe we are, and if you think about it ... we do have the upper hand.”

“Christ. How so?”

“We know something he doesn’t realize we know.”

Roman fell into the chair in the corner of his father’s office with his head in his hands, trying to make sense of his current state.

If he went in for a meeting with Dima—he wasn’t sure how he could walk away from there without ending the man; without making him suffer.

“Why do I feel like the key to this is understanding how much of a sad and pathetic fuck Dima truly is,” Demyan said, although he didn’t pose it as a question.

Which was fine.

Roman didn’t really have an answer.

“When the messenger calls again with details,” Demyan said, pushing up from his chair to head for the wet bar and vodka with his empty glass, “agree to the meet.”

*

The abandoned farmhouse made of bricks on the border of the New York state line was as far from Brighton Beach as Roman could imagine. He’d suspected Dima was using a property within the state as a haven, but they hadn’t been able to pinpoint exactly where. The tiny, rural communities that took them through their trip would have kept the visitor safely hidden from view as long as he came and went quietly.

They were also told to bring no more than one armed bull each—otherwise, they’d be shot on sight.

Roman tried to argue with Demyan again on the legitimacy of their plan. They would be severely outnumbered by Dima’s men if they followed through with this, but his father was quick to remind him that they had no other choice. This was it.

If they refused to meet with Dima now, their bratva would be met with more violence. How hot could the water get before it boiled them to death? His family couldn’t bear the pressure bearing down around them.

Roman gripped the steering wheel hard as he drove to the farmhouse in his car. He had one bull assigned to him, while his father drove his car behind him. Pavel was with him. He whispered Karine’s name under his breath a million times on the drive just to keep himself focused.

She was why he was here—doing this.

Simple as that.

Dima’s men guarded the front of the farmhouse. Armed and ready for an attack. They didn’t speak as the Avdonin men and their bulls were directed inside.

Dima hid his surprise at seeing Demyan there—but not well, and only for a second. It was the only upper hand Roman and Demyan really had. To bring the boss that had been consistently refusing to even grace Dima with his attention.

Until he hit the right button.

Demyan’s wife.

At their entrance, Dima didn’t move from where he sat in a tattered, old armchair in the middle of a large room which may have been a flourishing domestic scene at some point. Now, however, the walls were all broken down with holes littering each and every one. A cracked portrait lay in pieces on a dust-covered floor.

One lightbulb flickered on the ceiling, and there was a large enough hole between the second floor and in the roof that he could look straight up and see the moon overhead. He bet the place had been a cheap, fast buy. It looked like something that someone would want to just ... get off their hands. He was shocked it even had power.

Dima was a bright contrast to the mess of the room in his black, three-piece suit and shined loafers. Twisting an unlit cigar between his